


In The Library

by MiserableRu



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Archive assistant!Knight, Assuming the historical prequel, Gen, The Knight is called Ghost, history of hallownest?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:06:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23823544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableRu/pseuds/MiserableRu
Summary: An exasperated sigh escapes his mouth as he gazes at the bubbling acid which is currently disintegrating half of his work. Tiny, panicked taps are rapidly knocking at his shell, followed by several of the transparent creatures living in the area - Uomas - floating by his peripheral view.
Relationships: Monomon the Teacher & Quirrel (Hollow Knight), Monomon the Teacher & The Knight, The Knight & Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 74





	In The Library

Before the kingdom under a certain king was formed, several civilizations had been established on the vast expanse of the sacred ground above the eternal darkness. The few who had decided to stay aboveground were captivated by the light. With each dream they witnessed, their hearts found peace - a purpose they swore to abide until the end of their lives.

They built their settlements higher than the actual surface of the ground out of cautiousness and reverence. Cautious of the being lying deep below the earth and reverie for the goddess they worship above.

As an overlook to the barren land below, they fashioned a statue - to give form to the higher being they follow. They lived peacefully; comforted in their dreams which they deemed as a gift from the goddess. Never had they ventured too far below, not even with the promises of unknown treasures or undiscovered secrets. They were perfectly content living their lives to serve their goddess - a fulfilled life.

Beneath the earth, far below their home, other settlements were built. If whoever lived aboveground worship the goddess from dreams, those who had been born down below found salvation far deep beneath the earth. Their parents told them stories of the darkness, how they won the land against it to claim as their own. Yet these new generations did not share their parents’ courage and dreams. Lost her light, so to speak.

Instead, as they came face to face with the god resting below; a restless, volatile, unpredictable god whose power can’t be harnessed, their old, unknown fear resurfaced. They began worshipping the ‘god’ their very predecessors had spent the time to push back down; an irony that did not escape the light from above. 

A pool of it existed down further below where they resided - the abyss, they christened- moving like its alive; a god-given name by its worshipper. They sculpted various idols to represent its shapeless form. Giving it an appearance that was familiar to them; bugs, beasts, anything that they knew, had seen. These idols were empty, hollow, tailored to contain its essence inside. Or perhaps, they worshipped how empty they were, how in nothingness its power is proven.

Living near to its home caused discomfort to the dwellers from above. And despite their reverence, the bugs living below couldn’t stay nearer than where they’ve built their villages. Any further would have the god slipped between their shells, destroying their form while turning their inside into a part of its construct. Perhaps it is attracted to something 'filled', an ‘existence’ instead of hollowness. With a threat such as being molded into its body, most sane bugs would move away. 

These bugs stayed.

For what is a worshipper without their god? And a god without its worshipper?

(The darkness did not care, as even without a worshipper to shape it, nothingness would always exist. Since in the absence of everything, it reigns)

Those who abide to neither god nor goddess lived sporadically around. They built their nest beneath, settling in as if it was their home all along. Creeping spiders easily found home underground. Beyond the twist and turns of tiny caverns, far from the darkness, yet cloaked by the absence of light. With their threads, they weaved nests and created abodes to stay. Prey, they could seek from the maze of tunnels just a little way from their settlement. Or better, any naive travellers who found themselves lost in its confusing natural labyrinth.

Survival triumphs against compassion after all.

Strangely enough, a queen bee had set her eyes to a spot below ground, bringing with her the whole colony she birthed. They constructed a hive; a home for their family to house the queen and ensured their continuous survival among the caverns. Small bees could be seen braving the caves to reach the surface, ready to collect sweet nectar for their queen. The few curious bugs who dared to enter would be welcomed, as long as they did not have any malicious intent. To anyone who does, the queen's knight wouldn't hesitate to dispose of their body away.

Protecting the queen is instinctive, they do not need a mind to think they have to.

Another group full of proud warriors settled near the center of the land. Their village consists mostly of training courses for their young ones. They prided themselves for their strength and agility, paying respect only to those who could best them in the heat of a battle. With their claws and nails, they kept the weak from disturbing their life of solitude. As the head, their lords decided which bug they would respect and which bug is a prey.

This ensures only the strongest of them survive while the rest...was disposed of.

A barren land no more, it hummed and buzzed with life. Mindless, instinct-fueled lives, but alive nonetheless.

Then, the Wyrm came. 

Reborn from his former shell as he took a familiar, much smaller shape. He needed to cast off his appearance, ensuring that his looks would not scare the inhabitants of this land. Or worse, prompted hostility out of them. Sensing the land brimming with potential and abundant resources, how could he resist not claiming it?

Bearing a light of his own, this higher being stepped into the land, pitied the state of its occupants - their thoughtless routine and pointless worship to the old gods. Harnessing his flourishing reserves of souls from his old form, he branded himself a King and began his reign. He and his chosen mate bestowed the bugs and beasts equally with a generous blessing - a gift of thought and intelligence. Mindless is unbecoming of these creatures who would live under his rules, he declared.

To the creatures who had always been able to communicate with sounds and mutual understanding, his gift was pointless. The spiders assumed the gift was his attempt to give words to their spellcraft; a cunning endeavor to steal their specialty. Their reactions were claws drawn and fangs bared with a spell to ensure his blessing did not touch their kin. To this, he didn't bother to reply - a higher being wouldn't be dismayed by someone who couldn't appreciate their blessing.

Those who live inside the Hive - the only colony of bees in the land - did not need it either, preferring to speak in their own language. A few of the older bees found it fascinating though and learned to use it. If only to communicate with any outsiders who wandered too close to their home. 

The warrior tribe found the gift has its merit, though most found it useless in combat. Who needs words when you can convey intention with scythe and nails instead? It proved to be most useful when they issued warning to foolish travelers who had thoughtlessly entered their boundary. They fought honorable battles, not pouring needless bloodshed.

They who worship darkness had an epiphany upon receiving his blessing. Enticed by the new king’s proposal, they left their homes, seeking his guidance instead. After all, the god they bowed before had never given them any gift aside from the relief of feeling empty - and fear. This new higher being, who called himself a king, had a presence; an impressive presence with promises of a better life, free of fear.

So they sealed the gate to where their old god exists. Tried to forget their cowardly past to follow the new light.

(The darkness never did care. It simply exists, not wanting, not dreaming)

Soon, the king made his round, learning every nook and cranny of the land while searching for the perfect place to build his kingdom. Though most tribes accepted his gift, not everyone was willing to part him with their share of land. Some refused vehemently, others politely asked him not to meddle with their home. This did not bother the king, as he claimed the land nearest to the darkness below. An excellent empty field to build a kingdom from ground's up.

Thus, he expanded his rules - from the depths below.

The tribe on the surface was at first wary of his rule. They were worshippers of light - a goddess from their dream who radiates light eternal inside their mind. The king had asked of their standing, offering them a place among his people. A temporary refusal was made as they wanted to stay faithful to their goddess, living with dreams as their guide. Followers of the old gods, they were called.

Yet after many moons, they found benefits in following the new light, who gifted them more than dreams could. Intelligence might not be as palpable as physical gifts, but it grants them a mind to think for the future of their tribe. It allowed each of them to find their calling, something real, physical unlike the promise of a sweet, sweet dream from their goddess.

So they left her, one by one, they turned their back on her.

A god forgotten is no god, but a mere husk without purpose.

One unfortunate day, her light bled into the real world - an attempt to be remembered, desperate, and feral. A dream realized into the world of waking; an impossibility that somehow transcended the line between both worlds. Not without being warped into something less of its nature and more twisted. Her fear and wrath rolled into one ball of light and invaded an unassuming little bug who had wandered too far from their parents. 

Robbed of their individual mind, filled with her light, the little bug became feral, attacking their parents without mercy and conscience. They were captured by the knight, sent by the king himself who deliberated this matter silently. Those who used to follow the goddess were then questioned, they were demanded to explain just how this old light works.

This was unexplainable, however, for they had never experienced such a bizarre occurrence. Her light always stayed in their dreams, never overstepping her boundary, and only provided comfort for their mind. Having her light out of the realm she reigns is--

SPLAT

An exasperated sigh escapes his mouth as he gazes at the bubbling acid which is currently disintegrating half of his work. Tiny, panicked taps are rapidly knocking at his shell, followed by several of the transparent creatures living in the area - Uomas - floating by his peripheral view. “I know you’re not doing it on purpose,” the taps are followed by a tug now, insistent, “...it is okay, little one, you do not need to apologize so profusely”

To his dismay, the tug does not stop, in fact, it seems to be growing considerably stronger. He puts down his quill, turning to meet the panicking bug when a parchment is shown to his face. It is filled with scratches, but legible familiar handwriting 

_~~Led~~ Lady Mon ~~mon~~ omomon look ing for you_

“Oh, alright, let me just tidy up first--”

“There’s no need for that, Quirrel” comes an answer; stern yet lilting and he snaps his head toward the source, gasping audibly at the sight before him. His teacher stands, amused at his flabbergasted face. “Madam,” he squeaks, berating himself for the inappropriate tone, “...I-uh, is there anything you need me for?” he asks with a slight bow.

A chuckle slips out from the towering figure, “Is this yours?” one of her limbs is grasping the half-burnt parchment previously placed on top of his work table as she studies it, “...I must say it is almost excellent, though you lack a few details like the fate of Unn and sometimes you're too dramatic when you have to be pragmatic, but otherwise, it is quite solid as a retelling of history” she places it back.

To say that he's embarrassed would be an understatement. He flushes brightly, burying his face on both of his palms, wishing that the acid below could drown him. The teacher merely chuckles at his expense, "No need to be ashamed. I didn't say that it's inadequate" a pat on his shoulder, prompts him to look up and meet the kind gaze through the mask. 

His mouth opens, ready to counter her when another knock on his shell interrupts. He swallows the self-pity at the tip of his tongue and turns to face the little bug, "Alright, what is it?" he asks, crouching to meet the other's eyes. They point at him, then to the parchment before they gaze down; guilt oozing from their mask.

"Seems like they want to apologize" comments the teacher with an amused look on her mask. As an answer, the little bug tilts their head even further forward, as if to emphasize their deep regret. He presses his hand between their horns, not even flinching when the unnatural coldness seeps through his fingers. "It is okay, friend, your apology is greatly appreciated" he pats their head, smiling when they lean into his touch. 

For a moment, he stays like that, rubbing circles onto the little bug until someone joins him. His teacher has two of her limbs on them, dusting nonexistent dirt from their coat before fixing the bow at the back of their neck. He retracts his own hand to allow her a turn to pat their head and she giggles, "How considerate of you dear student" she teases. Another flush passes through his face as he runs his hand across his face.

Once the little bug has been thoroughly petted, his teacher finally says, "The king's messenger came here to drop an invitation" her limb stays between the horns, absentmindedly drawing patterns in fast strokes. He doesn't miss the unease look on her gaze as she continues, regardless of his lack of response, "In three days, the preparation for his plan is to be commenced," her gaze lingers on the small bug, "...everything regarding his project should be destroyed"

Sagely, he bows and pauses as if to let the weight of her words settle. Then without gazing up, he speaks up, "Acid container, madam?" 

"Acid container, Quirrel, you’ve read my mind" she affirms, plucking the small bug from the floor and cradles them to her chest. They struggle a bit, finding the lack of footing disorienting before they settle, staring down at him as if they had always belonged there. 

He stares back at the bug, fondness creeping to his smile behind the mask, "And what about the other result of his highness project, Lady Monomon. What would you do with that particular matter?"

The teacher couldn't even hide the smirk on her face despite the mask, "Why I'm glad you've asked, my dear student," she sing-songs, letting one tip of her limb caressed the soft shell of the bug in her clutch, "...a discarded remain from one bug can be another’s treasure, don’t you agree?"

“As long as we’re not talking about excretion then, yes, madam, I am inclined to agree”

Lady Monomon gives him a look, “Perhaps, you would love to talk with one of the great knights. He would have a lot to say regarding your opinion about bug’s excretion” she assumes a serious tone. His color pales as he searches through words to refuse politely if she really would go through with it. 

“Oh, come now, scholar, you knew me well enough not to take that seriously” she jests, giving him a soft tap on his head. He sighs, both in relief and resignment, “No one can truly tell whether you joke or being earnest, madam,” he averts his gaze to the little bug who’s now staring at Monomon puzzlingly, “...why, remember that incident with the acid contraption and a meanderbug?”

His teacher doesn’t reply, merely giggles as she starts to leave the premise with the bug on tow. He follows the two closely behind, leaving his half-destroyed work to be cleaned later. A school of Uomas pass by - some of the youngest ones break off from the formation to cluster around Monomon. Some of these curious youngsters even perch on the bug in the teacher’s clutches, floating contentedly when they give it a pat each.

They travel through hidden pocket hallways between the acid river hissing below; a path known only to those who work in the inner works of the Archives. Once they reached a small door at the end of the hall - recently made by his hands from the Teacher’s order - they duck below the archway and the Uomas disperse. It’s a given since the small creatures couldn’t see the entryway. He still doesn’t know how Monomon struck a deal with the weavers for this spell, but he’s thankful for its existence regardless of how shady the whole exchange was.

With grace, the teacher deposits the little bug inside the room, patting them down for a brief once over and hums. They stare up at her, confused as to why they were being escorted back to their room when they could do that themselves. “Some of his highness’ soldiers stay until his arrival,” she says tersely, “...until the Archives is truly clear from his observation, be a dear and live up to your namesake, alright?”

She pokes at the spot between their eyes; a silent prayer, perhaps, or more of a good luck gesture, he couldn’t tell. Then, with reluctance, she pulls her limb away and turns to leave. He crouches to the bug’s eye level, “Sorry if we couldn't put better protection for your safety, little one" they stare at him, eyes blank, void of emotion yet telling enough. Inhaling deeply, he calls softly, "Ghost…" then he stops, wonders why he has just beckoned them, "...we'll protect you, do not worry" he finishes firmly as convincing as he could.

Ghost does not make a noise - they couldn’t - but their tiny hands are cupping his face. He feels them tugging before their foreheads are pressed together. This familiar gesture he could recall had been repeated by Monomon to reassure the small bug whenever they made mistakes. And though Ghost may lack anything to express their emotion - if they have any - their gestures are enough to write a story with.

"Thank you…" he says, though not knowing for what. 

They stay for a moment like this until Ghost is satisfied and releases him. With one last pat, he leaves, prepared to face the task ahead for the upcoming plan his teacher had put together.

**Author's Note:**

> *inhales  
> So, ArchiveAssistant!Ghost


End file.
